Disclaimer: I am neither Eric Kripke nor Right Said Fred… So, I own nothing. Thank God, way too much pressure.

A/N: His guys. I'm certainly not a new writer to fanfiction but I am a new writer to this particular fandom. I'm currently in love with Supernatural and this pairing, and soon I will be writing a few rather angsty one-shots, but I thought "what better way to break the ice with this pairing than with a crack fic? Especially after not having written any comedy in forever" So, here's a little two part story for you lovelies. Let me know if you guys want to read the second part.

Much love,

TillThatTime

Dancing in Your Underwear

Castiel, self stated angel of the Lord and undefeated champion of stating the obvious, had a very special talent.

Said talent wasn't as God-given as one might think, but rather a skill acquired over many years of perfecting it. It wasn't something that he bragged about or even felt predominately proud of, because for one, he didn't feel like he would be particularly good at bragging and asking Dean to assist him in learning such a thing seemed rather unimportant compared to an impending apocalypse and two, it wasn't really Webster's definition of angelic. Not that Webster's definition was outstandingly accurate in the first place.

No, really it was just something that he had a knack for, and its usefulness deemed it as something worth honing.

So, Castiel, previously stated angel of the Lord, was exceptional at, even without the comfort of being invisible, sneaking up on people and observing them undetected.

Or as Dean Winchester liked to call it, his fuck-all-ability-to-morph-into-a-ninja-cat.

But Castiel preferred not to call it that respectively.

It wasn't something that he had ever felt guilty about, because he never used it to his advantage unless it was in turn useful for the greater good, but as his understanding of humans and their ridiculously confusing nature grew, he began to do it less and less. Most days now he made his presence clear from the very moment he appeared.

This however, was not one of those days.

He hadn't meant to, really he hadn't. He had appeared in the front room of whatever dingy motel the Winchester brothers were currently inhabiting, hoping to talk with one, or preferably both of them, only to find neither of them there. That's when he heard it. A voice that he had never heard before wafting in from the other room.

I'm too sexy for my love, too sexy for my love,

love's going to leave me.

Immediately following the rather odd words, a beat began that was no less unsettling and Castiel found himself slightly…interested. Another rather new emotion. Not the feeling of being interested, but instead the feeling of being so interested that he was curious.

So, he crept silently to the bedroom where the sound was coming from and stood, nearly hidden by the doorframe. There, in his inescapable line of vision, was probably the oddest thing he'd seen in a long time, and considering the things he'd seen lately, that was saying quite a lot.

It would be naïve to believe that in his many, many years of existence that he hadn't seen something like it before, but it wasn't so much the act that caught him off guard, but rather the person doing said act.

There stood Dean Winchester, protector of all things manly and brawny, completely oblivious to any prying eyes, shaking his ass.

Castiel, not surprised by much, but most certainly surprised by whatever the hell this was, felt his eyes widen slightly as he took in the sight of Dean's foot tapping to the beat of the song that was bouncing joyful off the walls.

As Dean's head began bobbing with the rhythm of his ass shaking all Castiel could do was stare wide-eyed like an angelic bush baby, because….seriously?

He watched in rapt awe as those big hands rose up from their position at Dean's sides and began to run teasingly down a muscular chest in a poor imitation of a self-inflicted lap dance. Then….the voice came back. And in God's name, Dean actually knew the words. As he demonstrated by singing along.

I'm too sexy for my shirt,

too sexy for my shirt,

so sexy it hurts.

Castiel was captivated as white material began to lift and, was Dean really….yes, the shirt was now gone, tossed somewhere forgotten and unwanted on the floor. Dean's hands were now back on their previous place, and Castiel was damned confused at this point.

Though it seemed a little farfetched, demon possession certainly did come to mind, but as Dean twisted his hips in a way that was downright sexual, Castiel quickly tossed the notion away and chalked it up to just further proof that the world actually was coming to an end.

Dean Winchester, the physical manifestation of all things macho, liked to strip down and shake it.

Now if Castiel had been Sam he would have been running to the hills to sing of this glorious discovery in the most vindictive way possible, because come on, it was just that good, but since Castiel was not Sam, and Castiel was Castiel, angel of the Lord. He had no idea what to do with this discovery. Hence the familiar tilting of the head as he watched on.

And I'm too sexy for Milan,

too sexy for Milan, New York and Japan.

Castiel was positive that the eldest Winchester brother had never been to any of those places so the assumption in the words seemed rather predetermined as Dean sang it with a rather extraordinarily bad accent, but he also realized that if he were to point that out, Dean would merely bristle and state that it was an expression, so he did not log that away for further explanation. He was learning, he really was.

However, that really wasn't what was important right now because at that very moment, with one perfectly timed and dramatic flick of the wrist, the button to Dean's wranglers was undone and with a little trip that temporarily put a halt in the flow of the dance, they too were joining the forgotten shirt of the floor, leaving Dean in only his boxers. Castiel didn't have to wonder if the proper thing to do right now was alert Dean of his presence before the pile of clothes grew any larger, but as he watched the fabric of his boxers bunch as he continued to gyrate his hips, he decided that he could hold out doing so just a little while longer.

I'm too sexy for your party,

Too sexy for your party,

The way I'm disco dancing.

Ah yes, hence the reason why he was standing alone (or so he thought) in a rundown motel room dancing to…who the hell was this anyway? One thing to be said about Dean Winchester was that in all his self-hating, self-sabotaging glory, the man had one hell of an ego.

He now had his head thrown back as he wagged his finger in mock scolding, and Castiel was rather surprised to feel his cheeks heat when Dean swayed his hips while moving towards the ground to the beat of the music.

Castiel had never understood the concept of dancing, or why humans felt compelled to do it, but as Dean proved that he could use his body for something other than fighting and throwing himself like a human shield filled with pent up emotional trauma in front of people to protect them, and quite well actually, the angel suddenly formed a liking for it, and so did other parts of his body, apparently.

He shifted.

I'm a model, you know what I mean

and I do my little turn on the catwalk,

on the catwalk, yeah, on the catwalk,

I do my little turn on the catwalk.

And now Dean was doing what Castiel supposed was his "little turn on the catwalk", which consisted of him turning quickly and posing in a position that could only be described as…feminine. Repeatedly.

That's when Castiel felt it, another rather new sensation. He really couldn't tell if it was an unpleasant feeling or not, but as Dean did yet another turn and threw his hands up into the air, while his hips jutted out, the renegade angel couldn't seem to stop it. It bubbled up in his stomach and traveled up through his chest and throat until it came out of his nose, in what could only be described as a snort.

Castiel was rather horrified at the sound he had just made and quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late, the damage had been done.

Dean, startled out of his pose, spun around quickly in the direction of the noise and upon seeing that someone was there watching him, he let out a high pitched shriek. Dean Winchester, the man who had seen hell itself and faced the creatures of it like a man, had just screamed…like a girl.

Castiel felt that odd bubble in his stomach start up again but this time he was able to control it slightly as he sealed his lips tightly and schooled his features to the best of his ability as Dean attempted to cover himself with his hands.

"What the fuck, Cas! You can't just sneak up on people when they're trying to…trying to…relax!" Dean yelled, moving to grab his pants off the floor. In his rush of an embarrassment he unsuccessfully tried to hop into his jeans both feet first, which ended with him in a massive heap on the floor.

Castiel thought over Dean's choice of words as the hunter struggled to regain his footing with his jeans still around his ankles, a litany of curse words spewing from his mouth as he did so…that was an interesting way of putting it.

"Relaxing? I don't see how what you were doing could be relaxing at all, what with all the-"

"Say it and I'll rip your wings off." Dean spat, finally back on his feet and hastily buttoning his jeans. "Where the fuck is my shirt!"

"I highly doubt you would be capable of doing such a thing and it's over there by the lamp."

"Shut up dammit, I can find it myself." Nevertheless he made his way over to where his shirt had ended its short voyage.

"Dean, you should really calm yourself, it's not that big of a deal."

"Stop saying my name! I don't like the way you say my name!"

Now Dean was just being ridiculous.

"How exactly am I saying it?" Castiel questioned, his head cocking to the side.

"Like you didn't just use your creepy Jedi mind-fuck shit to spy on me. And stop doing that tilty head thing, it's pissing me off."

In Dean's current state of panic, a hamburger would probably piss him off.

"Dean, I'm sorry for intruding-"

"Tell Sam about any of this and I'll be making a pillow out of your wings!"

Now Dean was just repeating himself. Castiel wondered how long it would be before the man's vocabulary was reduced to sputters.

"I don't understand why you're so upset." Upset seemed to be an understatement as Dean began to pace up and down the room, muttering something about it not really being him, and how he didn't even like Right Said Fred.

He stopped in his ranting to look at Castiel, his expression one of disbelief. He breathed out slowly, obviously trying to calm himself before he spoke. "Because Cas, it's…it's embarrassing, ok!"

The incessant pacing resumed.

Castiel sort of understood that concept, and he knew that it probably wasn't at all pleasant for Dean to feel, and he hadn't wanted Dean to get this upset, so he sought to rectify his actions.

"Show me."

Dean stopped dead in his tracks.

"Pardon?"

"Embarrassment is something you feel when you are exposed doing something that others do not do…so show me and there will be no more reason for embarrassment."

"One more time, Michael Landon?"

Castiel certainly did not understand that reference, but that was hardly the point.

"Teach me how to dance like that, Dean."